Surrender
by lunalumax292
Summary: Post AWE. "Beckett is no threat to us; not here. He's afraid, aren't you?" She leaned towards him, her voice lowering to a sinful whisper. "He's afraid that the entire world that he has carefully constructed for himself is a lie, afraid to wonder who is friend and who is foe." Cutler Beckett hated pirates. Until he fell in love with one.
1. Chapter 1

After AWE. Beckett doesn't die.

...

"Ah, Lord Beckett, have you had the pleasure of being introduced to my niece?"

Beckett rolled his eyes but turned to face the owner of the voice. He smiled politely. "Unfortunately not, Admiral."

The Admiral grinned. "Annabelle?" A young, petite, dark haired lady to his left looked up from her conversation and pursed her lips. "A moment, my dear."

She stepped towards him, a bemused look on her face, and she curtsied. "Uncle."

"This is Lord Beckett; the head of the East India company," the Admiral nodded to Beckett and smiled when his niece curtsied stiffly again, offering her hand for Beckett to kiss. "Lord Beckett, my niece; Annabelle Bonnette."

"Lady Annabelle," Beckett greeted, not giving her his full attention. He lowered his lips to her hand and looked up when she gasped. Their eyes met and his mouth fell open, her jaw clenching.

Her gaze darkened and she withdrew her hand. "Excuse me, uncle, I need some air." Beckett's eyes widened in recognition at her speech; it was the perfect English of the upper class, and yet there was a forbodingly familiar twist around her words, as if the English was practiced and polished by means of elocution, merely cloaking her natural Irish tongue. He followed her retreat with a heated gaze. She was either exceedingly brave or stupidly naive to have come to such an event, knowing that he would be there.

The Admiral raised an eyebrow. "Of course."

Beckett watched her exit the room, his disbelief evident on his face. "Forgive me, Admiral. Your niece," he said quietly, turning to the older man, "I... I seem to know her from somewhere."

"I doubt that, your Grace," the Admiral replied with a smile, "Annabelle is recently travelled from Ireland to join my wife's household."

"Ireland, you say?" Beckett murmured, "Interesting."

Lowering his voice, the Admiral leaned forwards a little. "She is of a marriageable age, your Grace, if it is not too bold to say."

Beckett waved off his latter statement. "Marriageable age?"

"Nineteen next week," the Admiral supplied, "I could arrange..."

But Beckett was already gone, stalking through the crowded ballroom and after the young woman who had recently departed.

He found her outside sitting on a bench, and she stood up warily, her dark eyes trained on his face.

"You have no cannons here, Beckett," she murmured, relaxing when he held his hands up in defeat, "And I daresay your army is enjoying the party far too much to bother about one woman."

"_One_ woman?" Beckett hissed, his calm facade evaporating as he took in her appearance. She was wearing a red silk dress with a low, square cut neckline, the bodice clinging to her frame until it belled out at her hips, the sleeves tight on her arms, ruffled black lace flaring out at the elbows. Her tanned skin gleamed in the moonlight, her dark hair cascading down her back in controlled curls. She was small and slender, her breasts offered up to the eyes by the cut of her dress, her eyes almost black in the night. He approached her and gripped her upper arms, slamming her into a wall. _"One _woman? Have you any _idea_ of the damage that you have done to my fleet?"

He was not an overly tall man, but he towered over Annabelle. Even in her heeled shoes, her forehead only grazed his nose. She was dwarfed by him, and though he did not cut the most imposing figure, she could feel his muscles - tensed and hard - beneath his attire.

She smiled predatorily, not at all fazed by his anger. "I have a vague recollection, my Lord."

"A _vague_ recollection?" Beckett spat, "You destroyed _seven _of my ships!"

"Only seven? Pity," she murmured, smirking up at him. "I would have hoped for more." She trailed a hand down her body, her fingertips searching for the small blade she kept concealed, and Beckett grunted as steel was suddenly biting into his skin.

"Temper, temper," he chided with a smirk, nonplussed by her casual assault on his person.

"My ship is being repaired as we speak. Perhaps next time I will aim for more destruction." The Irish in her voice was not so easily hidden in her barely controlled anger, and Beckett's ardor flared at having riled her so effortlessly. Then, glaring at him, "You _murdered _my first mate, Beckett."

"He chose his own fate," Beckett said huskily, his body now all too aware that he was pressed against a beautiful young woman. He reached up to trail a finger down her cheek, not failing to notice how she blushed at the touch. "Your uncle speaks of marriage."

"I am already married," Anna whispered, swallowing thickly as Beckett's hand stilled and tightened on her neck, her grip on the dagger faltering slightly, "Since James died, I have married my profession."

"Your profession is _piracy_," he hissed, holding up her face to lean her head against the wall, their lips touching as he spoke. "And you are too young to be so assured of your future. Piracy is dangerous, Anna. You could easily be killed."

She bit her lip and looked up at him, relishing in the fury and lust that rested in his gaze. "That is true, your Grace."

Beckett exhaled slowly and released her arms, angry at himself for momentarily losing his temper. "Forgive my anger, my _Lady_," he said, his ire glowing in his eyes, "I forgot myself."

She quirked her lips and slipped out from under his arms. "You are forgiven, my _Lord." _

"You are _not_," Beckett replied, spinning around to face her. "You, _Anne Bonney_, are a _pirate_, and you have no business attending functions such as these."

"Admiral Groves is my uncle," she contradicted him, replacing her knife to its hiding place, "And I, his _beloved niece_, am always invited to attend his events. It was merely a happy accident that I was in the area at the time of this one."

"_In the area_," Beckett muttered in disbelief, shaking his head at her attitude, "Does he know?"

She smiled again. "No. And he would not believe you if you saw fit to inform him."

"I could have you arrested," he replied conversationally, sitting down on the bench that she had vacated, "He might find that evidence enough."

She laughed mockingly at his suggestion. His groin tightened at the sound and he hated himself for it. "You could try, your Grace. Surely, you do not think me foolish enough to come to such a function _alone_, do you?"

Beckett stood again, clenching his fists. "There are others here?"

"Many," she said with a raised eyebrow, "You might even know some of them." He was silent, then, glaring at her across the garden. "Hector Barbossa... Angelica Teach...Mary Read... Samuel Bellamy... William Kidd... Eduardo Villanueva..." She paused and bit her lip, "Jack Sparrow." She smirked at the noise of anger that erupted from his throat. "Though, I doubt you'd recognise any of them in powdered wigs and gentlemanly attire."

"Eight pirates against over a hundred soldiers; I don't much fancy your chances, Lady _Bonnette_."

She laughed again. "We are not unattended, your Grace. Our crews are around." As if by invitation, a man stepped from the shadows and she raised a hand to him. "I do not need your assistance, John. I will call if necessary. Go inside and dance."

Beckett gritted his teeth and moved towards her again. She smiled in delight at his temper, raising a challenging eyebrow as he gazed into her eyes.

"How do _any_ of you have the nerve to show your faces here?" he growled, trying to restrain himself from strangling her.

"Because we can," a male voice replied, and Beckett spun at the noise. Jack grinned. "Nice t' see ye again, Beckett. Wasn't sure if ye were alive or not." He glanced at Annabelle. "Y'all right, Annie?"

"We had lives _before _piracy, Beckett," Annabelle murmured, waving a hand at Jack in reassurance and recapturing Beckett's attention. "We had lives and _good_ names that need maintaining." Her gaze fell from his and for the first time, Beckett sensed vulnerability. "I would not hurt my uncle so as to shame him with my true identity. But I would not forfeit that identity, either. This way, I can have both."

"Your uncle expects you to join the household of his wife," Beckett pointed out, half incredulous that he was even having this conversation, "I do not see how you can continue to live this way."

"I have very loyal maids," Anna replied with a shrug, "_Many_ loyal maids who are similar to me in height, weight, age and appearance. All are trained in courtly etiquette. I've gotten away with it before."

"'m not sure ye should be divulging all of this information, luv," Jack interrupted, his eyes flashing in warning, "Remember who yer talking to."

Anna waved a hand at this. "Beckett is no threat to us; not here. He's afraid, aren't you?" She leaned towards him, her voice lowering to a sinful whisper. "He's afraid that the entire world that he has carefully constructed for himself is a _lie, _afraid to wonder who is friend and who is foe." She smirked. "In fact, I do believe you were having a rather in-depth discussion with Sam Bellamy earlier about the decreasing quality of mass-produced cannons. Amusing, isn't it, that you were trying to destroy each other only a week ago."

He took another step towards her, his fists clenching with a renewed vigour. "You will not get away with this."

Jack slung an arm around Anna's shoulders and they shared a smirk. "But we already have, mate," Jack answered. He glanced at her. "Angelica wants to get back. We've a busy today tomorrow, after all." Beckett gazed at him in wonder; this was not the pirate that he had become accustomed to, _this_ Jack Sparrow was the same man who'd sailed for the East India Company, the man who'd been comfortable in a wig of his own, the man who he'd been friends with as a child.

Annabelle grinned at Beckett's baffled expression. "Of course. Wait for me at the docks, I shan't be long."

Jack nodded and walked away, clapping Beckett on the arm as he passed him. "Sorry about yer ship, mate," Jack called over his shoulder. "I always liked the _Endeavour."_

Beckett stiffened at the familiar touch and turned back to Annabelle. "And what of you, Lady Bonnette? Surely you cannot balance two lives indefinitely? Your uncle will expect you to marry, and I doubt your future husband will allow this behaviour to continue. He, at least, would notice if you replaced yourself with a maid."

"That would depend entirely on the husband." She gave him a speculative look. "And I assure you, Lord Beckett; I have no current intentions of marrying."

"I do not believe you would have a choice in the matter," Beckett murmured, reaching out to brush a black curl away from her face, "But would it be so horrific, so _unbearable_ for you to give up criminality and return to the good? Marriage has its own _rewards, _or so I am told."

"He would have to be quite the man," Anna breathed, leaning into the touch in spite of herself, "Powerful. Dangerous. Not opposed to having a headstrong wife. Rich." She tilted her head up so that her lips were almost brushing against his. "Do you know of anyone to fit that criteria?"

Beckett scoffed. "I doubt your first husband was _any_ of those. I wonder... Does your _dear_ uncle know of your first marriage? Or is he unaware that you so illicitly surrendered your virtue to a lowly pirate at the tender age of fifteen?"

Her eyes flashed. "Don't you dare speak of my James in such a manner; I loved him, Beckett, and I won't have you defiling his memory."

Pressing her up against a tree, Beckett went on, "I _wonder_, does your uncle know of your bastard son, sired by Jack Rackham?"

"You _are_ well informed," Anna replied impassively, "Though it seems that your sources are a little off the mark in this case. It was _Mary_ _Read_ who birthed a child, your Grace, not I. Jack Rackham is but a brother to me; I am godmother to their boy, and what of it?" There was the noise of a hammer being pulled back on a pistol and she winced as she felt the barrel being pressed to her temple.

"It seems, Lady Bonnette, that you were a fool to dismiss your bodyguard so quickly," Beckett murmured, "For now, you are unattended and unarmed."

"Shoot me, if you must," she whispered, challenging and defying him even as he threatened her life, "It won't change anything. My kind will still seek to triumph over yours, and they will be vengeful. I am as a daughter to many Captains, your Grace; retribution would be swift and unforgiving." She thrust her chin up towards him. "I am not afraid of death, Beckett. If you must kill me, then do so."

And then, feeling his breath on her skin and the steel against her forehead, Anna did the only thing she could think of. She lifted her head and captured his lips with hers, knocking his arm to the side and causing him to drop the pistol as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. It only lasted a moment, but the moment was enough. Her lips burned, her body pressed itself against his; it had been _so long_ since she'd had a man, so long since she'd felt the heat of another, and an absurd second passed wherein she considered dragging him into a more sheltered area and letting him take her.

She wrenched her mouth from his and pushed him away, gasping for breath as he reached up to touch his lips. She had shocked him, she knew, but there were flames of lust in his eyes and she wanted to get away from it.

"Hesitation is weakness. Weakness means death. If you are going to kill someone, kill them; do not stand around talking about it. There is one thing you must know about pirates, your Grace; whilst we do not fear death, we have a strong respect for mortality, caring only for our freedom and survival, and we would willingly sacrifice everything else to obtain those things. The gold, the riches, the ocean, the marriage act; it is all meaningless if the face of what truly matters. _Life._"

She had used her speech to her advantage, backing towards the door to the ballroom so stealthily that Beckett had barely noticed. He stared at her, his expression unreadable. She was almost erethreal in the aftermath of their embrace: her lips were slightly swollen and red, her cheeks flushed, her eyes at half mast, her bosom heaving against her corset even as she pretended her indifference. Even now, as their eyes met, her hands were shaking.

Beckett smiled coldly, calculatingly, and Anna shivered.

She curtseyed mockingly and walked back inside, said her goodbyes to her uncle, tore off her shoes and ran down to the docks, not stopping for breath until she was within the safe confines of _The_ _Black Pearl. _

She had given him a valuable piece of advice, advice that she would not usually so freely bequeath; he had rattled her. Still her blood thrummed in her veins, her hair tangled from the sprint, still her lips throbbed from the memory of his kiss. She was furious, enraged at how easily he'd gotten under her skin.

Angelica looked up at her questioningly as she stumbled aboard, and Anna shook her head. "Not now, Angelica. I want to get back to my ship and then I want to blow Beckett to smithereens."

...


	2. Chapter 2

"And where exactly does your uncle think you are now?" Mary asked bemusedly, watching Anna as she poured over the charts in her cabin.

"Visiting friends in Tortuga," Anna replied, not looking up. "Which isn't exactly a lie, is it?"

Mary snorted and took a sip from the bottle of wine she was holding. "If only he knew."

"If only," Anna agreed in a murmur, "He wrote to me yesterday; he's found an appropriate husband."

Mary sat up and gazed at Anna warily. "What will you do?"

Anna sighed. "What can I do? I can't say no. I'm his ward. He can marry me off to whomever he likes. I just have to hope that my new husband is blind, I suppose. It is either that or I truly must retire. I told him that I would be agreeable to a luncheon with his desired candidate as soon as I arrive in Port Royal next week. I fear that the lunch may just be an unnecessary formality. I may be married in a few weeks time."

There was a knock on the door and Anna looked up. Her new first mate – a wise old fellow called Harry Green – entered and placed a tray down on the desk. "Yer dinners, milady." He tipped his hat to Mary and left the two alone.

"You could always bring him aboard," Mary suggested with a grin, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

"Oh, yes," Anna said scornfully, "I'm sure my new husband would _adore_ a pirate's life."

* * *

Beckett leaned back in his chair and took a drink from his brandy. "And, your niece; you are sure she will be pleased?"

Admiral Groves nodded. "In her last letter she showed a considerable interest in you, my Lord."

"And you haven't told her of my identity?"

Groves smirked. "No. I thought that'd be a nice surprise for her. We are all rather surprised, your Grace, at your interest in her. If you don't mind me saying so."

Beckett shrugged. "She is a beautiful young woman. One would be foolish not to see that. And such spirit is rare in someone so young."

"I would hope that you mean to encourage that spirit, your Grace, and not stamp it out."

"On the contrary, Admiral, I do believe that Annabelle's spirit is one of her more attractive traits." He stood and walked to the window, glancing down at the bay and his ever-expanding empire.

Anna had completely knocked him off course with her impromptu capturing of his lips, and the memory of it was haunting him. She had clung to him with such feverish passion, with such unrelenting _want_ that he had immediately - and rather powerlessly - surrendered and kissed her back, pouring all of his anger into their brief liaison.

He had denied his desire for her for little under a week, knowing that theirs would be an impossible Romeo and Juliet style romance with no forseeable happy ending, and then he was struck with a sudden inspiration.

Anna's uncle, the loyal Admiral Groves, was searching for a husband for his neice. True enough, Anna wouldn't be a virginal bride, but he doubted that she had any experience that extended outside of her previous marriage. Should Beckett put himself forwards as a potential suitor for the Lady Annabelle Bonnette - effectively emasculating any other candidates - he would be able to marry her, gaining both the pleasures of the marriage bed and the rewards of removing the dangerous Anne Bonney as a piratical threat.

Perhaps he had found a genuine way to have it all.

* * *

Beckett smiled coldly and lowered his spyglass. "Pirates. How delightful."

He nodded to Lieutenant Merriweather and placed his hands on the helm, turning the ship in the direction of the other vessel, his eyes holding a grim satisfaction as orders to run out the guns were screamed out across the deck. He couldn't be the one to initiate a fire fight; the first blow had to be from the pirates.

His eyes narrowed as the pirate vessel – _The Captain's Bride -_ also altered course. He raised the spyglass again, his eyes searching for an authoritative figure, and he stilled when they found _her. _

"It's Anne Bonney, my Lord," the Lieutenant supplied, and Beckett rolled his eyes.

"Thank you for that sterling observation. I assure you, Lieutenant, I am in possession of eyes of my own."

She was beautiful; her breeches clinging to her figure, her shirt dipping inappropriately low on her chest, her tangled black hair flying out around her as she called out her orders.

Their ships were nearing one another, now, and Beckett could see her clearly without the spyglass.

She whirled around and glared at him, holding his gaze long enough for one of her cannons to fire. There was a sly, cheeky glint in her eyes and she licked her lips.

"Return fire!" Beckett called out, relishing at the sudden round of blasts and her furious, outraged expression.

"I'm going to slaughter you, Beckett," Anna taunted across the space between them, her dark eyes flashing as she drew her sword. He was captivated; her fingers trailed along the hilt, her grip strong, and Beckett smirked at the challenge in her eyes. "Stop hiding behind your cannons and fight like a man."

Beckett thought about this for a moment, and then turned to the Lieutenant. "Bring her to me."

"Sir?"

"I'm sorry, was that not clear enough? _ Bring her to me. _I do not recall asking for your opinion on the matter."

Lieutenant Merriweather faltered. "Sir... she is armed."

"As are we."

...

It didn't take long for the Beckett's robust crew to overpower Anna's tired men, and though she fought valiantly, she was eventually shackled and dragged across the gangplank, the ship burning behind her.

She struggled at her restraints, using all of her strength to throw off her captors until she stood encircled by soldiers rather than being held by them.

"Bunch of bloody cowards," Anna seethed, recoiling in disgust at the way the men around her leered at her heaving chest.

Beckett pushed his way through the soldiers and she glared at him, clenching her jaw when he reached out to touch her.

"Don't touch what you can't afford, Beckett," she spat, wrenching her face out of his grip.

"Your crew are weak, Anne Bonney," Beckett pointed out, "And your ship, as you can see, is sinking."

Anna scoffed. "_That_ is not my ship. Were you a tad more observant, you would have noticed the absence of my colours. What is it, my Lord? Why the shackles? I am unarmed." Her eyes mocked him, and rightly so; there were at least twelve bayonets pointed at her person.

Beckett considered this. "Alright." He stepped forward and unlocked the manacles around her wrists. "Better?"

Unable to stop herself, Anna sighed in relief and rubbed at her arms. "Much." She looked up at him and smiled sweetly, only the mirth in her gaze showing how she truly felt about the situation. "Thank you, _my Lord._" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sword being tossed her way and caught it reflexively. She glanced down at it and raised an eyebrow when Beckett shrugged off his jacket and drew his own cutlass. "You mean to spar with me? How quaint."

He smirked. "If you so desire." He struck at her, then, and his eyes widened when she effortlessly knocked his sword away. They circled each other slowly, gazes locked, until Anna swept forwards, parrying with him. "Observe, gentlemen," he drawled, never breaking eye contact with her as he reined blow after blow down upon her sword.

To her surprise, he was quite the swordsman, nimble on his feet and quick to defend, but she was slowly gaining the upper hand, her blade catching against his cheek and drawing a delicate line of blood. She laughed breathlessly as he suddenly knocked her off balance, pulling her back into his chest and holding his cutlass at her throat.

She shoved herself backwards, bringing her rear into full contact with his hips. There was a muffled noise from his throat at her movement and she smirked as his grip on her waist tightened. She leaned her head back onto his shoulder, arching her back, her throat pushing against his sword.

She shifted against him, feeling his clothed length settle between her buttocks. Anna took a deep breath, knowing she was giving him quite a glorious view down the front of her shirt, and licked her lips as he exhaled sharply at the sight. There was a slow tightening in his breeches and she smiled wantonly, pressing back into it and clenching the muscles of her derriere.

Beckett gave a choking cough at the feel of her. He held her there for a moment until a sharp pressure against his groin made him wince. "Release me," she murmured, pressing the dagger harder against him. She could feel his arousal pressing against her hand, now, and it made her dizzy with power.

He opened his hands, dropping his sword and pushing her away from him, untucking his shirt in one swift movement. "You cheated, Madame Bonney."

Anna bit her lip and shrugged, looking up at him from under her lashes. "Pirate," she said by way of explanation, gazing at him hotly, her eyes heavily lidded and lustful. "I am a woman in a man's world, my Lord. I must use every _weakness_ to my advantage."

She grunted as Beckett suddenly pushed her along the deck and into his cabin, flinching as the door was slammed behind them. She turned to question him, but her words stuck in her throat as he roughly pressed her up against the door and captured her lips.

She moaned at his passion, desperately trying to remind herself that she hated this man, and clawed at his shoulders, clinging to him even as a part of her mind was screaming at her to push him away. His kiss was unforgiving and brutal, his teeth nipping at her lower lip.

Anna leaned her head away, gasping for breath, moaning again when his mouth lowered to her neck, his hands gripping her bottom and lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, smirking against his lips when he stiffened at the sudden contact.

Apparently coming back to himself, he lowered her to the floor. "My apologies," he said in a quiet, breathless voice, his eyes narrowing at her expression. "Yes?"

"Am I your prisoner, Lord Beckett?" Anna asked him, adjusting her shirt and giving him another tantalising view of her cleavage.

"You should be," he muttered, turning away and pouring himself a brandy, "But I have plans for you, plans that would be disrupted should I clap you in irons and set you on a path to the gallows."

"Plans?" Anna walked to his side, leaning against the table and indicating that he should pour her a glass of her own. "Enlighten me."

He smirked. "No. Shan't." He passed her a full glass and drained his own in one gulp, shaking his head when she lifted herself to sit on the table.

Anna crossed her legs and took a sip from her drink, gazing up at him with amusement in her eyes. "Then shall I escape? Shall I shackle you to your bed, commandeer your ship and sail away?"

He squeezed his eyes closed at the image she had created. "Hardly," he choked out, lifting the glass bottle of brandy to his lips and taking a deep drink.

She chuckled at his theatrics and sighed. "Then, what do you suggest?"

Beckett leaned around her and plucked a pistol from the desk. He pressed it into her hands and raised an eyebrow. "Leverage, of course."

Anna raised it to his head and slid off the table, shaking her head and smiling. "Ah." She pulled him to the door, her hand on the knob. She raised her head and pressed her lips gently against his in a chaste kiss. "Thank you," she murmured. Then, opening the door, she shoved him to the deck outside and pulled back the hammer. "...So, you are going to provide me and my crew with a lovely little longboat, or I will quite happily paint your deck red with your oversized brains."

"I do believe there was a compliment in there somewhere," Beckett mused, raising his hands in defeat.

* * *

Anna stood in silence as her maids dressed her, lacing her corset until she couldn't breathe without pain. She rolled her eyes as one of them stepped around to her front, tugging on the neckline until her breasts practically spilled over it.

Nodding in satisfaction, the same maid gestured for a lace undershirt to be brought over; it wasn't much of a shirt, just sheer sleeves that tied beneath her breasts by means of a ribbon. Her hips were padded and caged, as was the fashion, and Anna found herself longing – not for the first time - for the freedom of cotton breeches, silk shirts and flat leather boots.

Her mind wandered as her maids continued, thinking back to the last time she'd seen Beckett... the cannons, the sword fight, the kiss... She shivered at the memory. It was a marvel the way she seemed to affect him; Beckett was notoriously cool-headed, near impossible to irk, never displaying any emotion save a cold detachment, and yet, her last two encounters with him had left him deliciously flustered. She still despised him, even after their kisses, but she was willing to admit that she felt something akin to lust when she was in his presence.

Cotton stockings were slid up her legs and secured with garters, heeled shoes slid onto her feet, and Anna shook the thoughts of Beckett from her head. She was being readied to meet her betrothed; it was not the time to be thinking of another man's kiss.

Next was the dress; shimmering azure silk that clung to her slender torso. The silk sleeves started at the curve of her shoulder and ended at her elbow, where the lace rippled out in soft frills. The colour brought out the tan in her skin, and with her black hair, she seemed more like an exotic Spanish beauty than an Irish lass.

The material was arranged becomingly over her caged hips, giving her the ideal silhouette of an upper class lady. She sat down gracefully on a stool whilst her ebony tresses were teased and curled into a complicated up-do, with just one black tendril escaping to trail down her back.

Her face was painted, her ears adorned with pearls, and then her maids declared that she was ready.

She stood and rolled her shoulders, grimacing at the added weight of her outfit, and turned to look at herself in the mirror.

There was no doubt; she was a vision.

"The Admiral awaits you in his study, my lady."

Anna nodded her thanks.

She walked slowly to her destination, soon forgetting her cumbersome whalebone underwear, and sighed when she reached the door to her uncle's study. She knocked and entered, curtseying at the door. "Uncle."

"Ah, Annabelle." The Admiral stood and walked around his desk. "You remember Lord Beckett, I am sure?"

Anna looked up and froze, her eyes falling on the back of Cutler's head. He stood and smirked; Anna suddenly recalled their last conversation with a frightful clarity.

"_Am I your prisoner, Lord Beckett?" Anna asked him, adjusting her shirt and giving him another tantalising view of her cleavage. _

"_You should be," he muttered, turning away and pouring himself a brandy, "But I have plans for you, plans that would be disrupted should I clap you in irons and set you on a path to the gallows."_

"With your permission, Admiral, your niece and I will take a walk in the gardens." Beckett gave the older man a superior smile, almost daring him to insist upon an escort. When the Admiral said nothing, Beckett moved towards Anna and pulled her arm through his. "Come, Lady Annabelle; I hear your Aunt's roses are beautiful this time of year."

...

When they were out of sight from the house, Anna wrenched her arm from Beckett's and spun to face him. "What on _earth_ do you think you are doing?"

"Taking a walk with my fiancé," Beckett replied coolly. He stepped back and looked her up and down, taking in her appearance properly for the first time. "You look... different."

Anna blushed at the heat in his eyes but smacked his chest all the same. "You are heinous."

Beckett shrugged. "It is not a crime to admire the appearance of one's betrothed."

"I am _not_ your betrothed," Anna hissed, dragging him into a more secluded area, "And I tire of this game."

"Oh? Would you prefer to be shackled and hung, then?"

She stiffened and raised her hand to slap him, flinching when he caught her wrist in a crushing grip. "Do you mean to marry me to stop me from destroying your armada, Beckett? Because I can assure you, it won't make the slightest modicum of difference."

He sighed and encircled her waist with his hands, fighting a smile when she relented and gently placed her arms around his neck. "Is it so hard to believe that I truly desire you, Lady Annabelle?"

"Yes," she muttered, her fingers toying with the ponytail of his wig. "You have sworn to eradicate my kind. What makes me any different?"

"You are young; impressionable. I like to believe that you have been led astray by a combination of poor judgement of character and falling victim to the manipulation of others."

Anna scoffed, but Beckett didn't allow her to protest. He lowered his mouth to hers, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. She yielded immediately, sinking into the embrace and sighing against his lips. "I hate you," she mumbled, scowling as he chuckled and pressed a kiss to her hairline. "Don't laugh," she protested with a groan, "You're my _enemy._"

"It is all dreadfully clichéd and romantic, isn't it?" Beckett drawled tiredly, pulling her tightly to him and wincing as the whalebone cage around her hips pressed against him. "I ought to outlaw those things," he said in disgust, trying and failing to rest a hand on her bottom. He sighed in defeat and raised an eyebrow at her amused expression. "Yes?"

"You aren't like they say," she said softly, gazing at him as if he was a puzzle to be solved. "You aren't... I never imagined..."

"My, my; the dread pirate Anne Bonney struggling for words. I do believe that is a first." She did slap him, then; a cuff around the back of his head that knocked his wig askew. The sight of it made her giggle and he titled his head and smiled at the sound. "You are quite lovely when you laugh," he murmured, trailing a finger down her neck and along her collarbone.

"Beckett?"

Cutler raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Annabelle?"

"You _can't_ marry me."

"And why not?" Beckett demanded, "I am the most powerful man in the Caribbean. I shall marry whom I choose."

"I'm a pirate," Anna pointed out, hissing when he pulled her earlobe into his mouth. "I am not a virginial, pure, high-society rose. I have known the touch of man, I have felt carnal pleasure. I have killed many, and often. And you, with your powdered wigs, your morals and your bloody self-righteous attitude... you are everything I should loathe. Stop trying to seduce me," she protested weakly, thrashing under his grip. "I... I... My friends hate you," she managed, her eyes rolling back when he nibbled at the join of her neck and shoulder, "Your men would recognise me..." His lips lowered to her breasts and she sighed in pleasure, "...It would mean betraying everything that I have ever known..." She vaguely noticed that her skirt was being hiked up, teasing fingers crawling up her thighs, "Calico Jack would kill you..."

"Are you quite done?" Beckett asked huskily, and when Anna opened her eyes, the burning in his gaze shocked her into silence. She nodded and gasped when his lips caught hers in a savage kiss. It was possessive, claiming, and she melted in his arms, wrapping herself around him and returning the kiss with equal fervour.

She pulled away, her resolve suddenly strengthening. "I am a _pirate, _Cutler Beckett, and a pirate I shall remain."

"You desire me," he pointed out with a droll smile. "Your body cannot hide it, Lady Anna."

"What do you know of Caterina Sforza?" she asked him, prying his hands from her waist and moving out of reach. "She was an Italian noblewoman. Married off at her father's pleasure and expected to be a perfect little breeder. But she was different; she was a warrior, ruthless in pursuit of achieving her goals. When her husband was murdered, she ordered the slaughter of an entire village - men, women and children alike - such was her love for him. She managed to irritate Pope Alexander VI to such a degree that he sent his son, Cesare Borgia, to capture her and bring her to Rome. The Borgia boy succeeded eventually, of course. They had a torrid love oaffair, and she tried to kill him in their bed more than once, but she fell in love with him, and he with her, in spite of their differences. Tragically beautiful, don't you think?" She smiled at his bewildered expression. Backing away from him, Anna called, "Perchance you are Cesare Borgia, and I am Caterina Sforza, my Lord; I shall see you on the battlefield. I thank you for calling upon me." She turned to go back to the house, pausing for a moment. "But yes... perhaps I will marry you. One day."

...


End file.
